


Into Thin Air

by Vanata37



Series: Breathing Room [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Memory Loss, Mild Language, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanata37/pseuds/Vanata37
Summary: How could she have a daughter whom she didn’t remember having? How could she have a husband who hadn’t been her husband yesterday? Was it truly memory loss, or was she simply in another timeline? And why couldn’t she remember, one way or another?Someone had done this to them; he was sure of it. Someone had destroyed everything he had worked for. Someone had threatened to take every good thing away from him. He would start with a list, a list of names and potential motives. He needed to find the culprit, one way or another.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Breathing Room [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966066
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	1. Hermione

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for choosing my story! All your comments and kudos to my previous works have been such an inspiration for me to continue writing.
> 
> This is technically a sequel to my other work, Just Another Deep Breath, but I’m writing it in such a way that you can still read this without reading the other.
> 
> It’s obviously a memory trope work, but it’s one of my favorite tropes and I’ve really been enjoying writing it so far.
> 
> Also, chapters will be alternating between Draco’s and Hermione’s perspective, but I’ll be titling the chapters appropriately to keep you oriented.
> 
> I’ll try to update on Saturday nights/Sundays (depending on your time zone), but don’t hold me to it! Be sure to check the tags as I update. Some themes could be considered triggering.
> 
> Thanks again and sending all my love to you all!

Before Hermione even opened her eyes, she had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Her body sunk into the mattress a little bit deeper than she was used to. The blankets felt heavier than they should have. There was no arm wrapped around her waist to which she had grown accustomed. There was an uneasiness in the room as if she were being watched, causing her to open her eyes.

A little girl, who couldn’t have been more than four years old, lay beside her. She had wavy, dirty blonde hair and grey eyes that widened as Hermione stared back at her. The toddler sat up abruptly but kept her eyes on Hermione.

“Breakfast time?” she asked urgently with a toothy grin, as if she had been waiting quite a while to ask the question. Hermione pushed herself up onto her elbows, glanced quickly around the room, and confirmed she wasn’t where she had gone to sleep. She turned her eyes back to the little girl and pursed her lips to question where she was and how she got here. Still, she decided that questioning would be a waste of her time and thought it best to play it all out. She nodded, and the young one jumped off the bed and scurried out the door. Hermione looked down at herself, grateful that she was at least wearing the same sleep clothes she had gone to bed in. Deciding on her safest bet, she got up as well to follow, grabbing her wand from the bedside table on the way out.

The little girl was waiting at the corner of the hallway, a beacon guiding Hermione down a forgotten path. Hermione made her way down the hall, the toddler staying a few feet ahead. When she got to the corner, she knew exactly where she was: Draco Malfoy’s cottage. They weren’t the best of friends, but through their eighth year and time spent at the Ministry, they had grown cordial and she trusted him well enough. She had only been here a handful of times throughout the years, but she recognized the study. She ignored the strong pull toward the ajar door and continued on, following the young one. When she got to the middle of the hallway, Hermione’s eye caught something, causing her to stop.

The center of the wall held a wizarding portrait. Malfoy was lifting a little girl up off the ground, throwing her into the air, and catching her, the same little girl Hermione had woken up next to, maybe a few months younger based on size. Like all wizarding photographs, the image was on a loop: up, throw, catch, down. Hermione let her fingertips graze the blades of grass wafting in the wind. It looked to be the perfect spring day with so much joy in it. It was no wonder why Malfoy would have wanted to capture the moment. As far as she knew, Malfoy didn’t have any children, though he did keep his private life very...well, private. There were no nieces in his family as he was an only child, and the company he kept was all single bachelors. What puzzled Hermione even more was that this portrait seemed eerily familiar. But the feeling was much stronger than that, as if she had once lived through the moment the photograph had captured.

“Come _on!_ Breakfast time!” The repeated words pulled Hermione out of her stupor. The girl’s petite hand grabbed onto her own, and she began to pull her down the hallway, clearly impatient with Hermione’s delay. Hermione silently shook her head to rid herself of that odd feeling and forcibly followed. At the archway of the kitchen, the young one let go and skipped ahead; Hermione found herself missing the consolation the little hand had brought.

“G’morning,” Malfoy greeted heartily. He was standing at the stove with bacon sizzling in a pan. Hermione was grateful that she had someone with a much larger vocabulary to talk to and who might actually be able to help her.

“Help up, please!” the little girl cried, standing in front of her boosted seat with her arms lifted high.

“Hi,” Hermione replied to Malfoy, bringing her left hand up to her forehead, more focused on her own dilemma than on the girl. “Do you know how I ended up...” She looked back behind her shoulder to the hallway from which she had come, not quite sure how to phrase the question and gripped onto her wand a little tighter with her right hand.

“Oh, you fell asleep in the study again, so I carried you to bed.” Nothing in that sentence made any sense to her. She couldn’t remember ever falling asleep in Malfoy’s study, let alone “again,” and the last thing she _could_ remember was falling asleep in her own apartment, in her own bed, waiting for Ron to come home. How she ended up here, she wasn’t sure; she wasn’t even convinced she was truly awake. Malfoy looked up at her from the stove with his brow furrowed. “You alright?”

“Help up, please!” the young one repeated, her excited tone changing to aggravation from being ignored.

“Yeah, I think so?” Hermione responded to Malfoy’s question, rubbing her forehead to get rid of the malaise. “Everything’s just a little...foggy...”

“Why don’t you have a seat? You might feel better after you eat something.”

“Um...No, thanks. I think I’ll head home instead. I’ll see you at work on Monday, yeah?” Just as Malfoy’s expression morphed from concern to confusion, the little girl screamed.

“ _Help. Up. Please!_ ” At the “please,” she stomped her foot forcefully onto the floor, and the chair suddenly broke apart into hundreds of pieces. Hermione gasped at the sound, but Malfoy simply sighed and performed a quick mending charm on the chair, as if it were a daily occurrence. He walked over and quickly inspected the toddler for any damage, before picking her up into his arms and turning back toward Hermione.

“What...did you say?”

“I said,” Hermione started patiently, “I’m going to head home. You seem to have your hands full, so I’ll see myself out. The Floo is still in the study, right?” She turned around and walked back down the hallway, past the strange portrait, and through the study; she found her shoes next to the Floo and slipped them on to avoid being barefoot, feeling grateful that her subconscious had thought of it. She didn’t wait when she heard Malfoy call after her; she was too focused on returning to a place of normalcy, even in this dreamworld.

When Hermione got to her front door, she performed the few quick charms to unlock it, but they didn’t work. As she was repeating her spells, certain she had missed one, Malfoy arrived behind her with the little girl still on his hip. The charms didn’t work the second time either.

“Granger,” Malfoy tried, but she ignored him and pounded on the door, loud enough to be able to grab Ron’s attention from their corner bedroom. A faint “one moment” could be heard from inside her apartment before the door opened.

“How can I help...Hey, I know you!” A woman in her early twenties greeted them and pulled the door further ajar. “You’re Hermione Granger...and Draco Malfoy; it’s an honor, truly. Is there a problem? Something I can help you with?”

“ _Who_ are _you_ , and what are you doing here?” Hermione asked sharply. The woman began to mumble with quiet oh’s and um’s and was taking much longer to respond than Hermione cared for, so she tried again. “ _What_ are you doing here? Are you sleeping with my husband?”

“What?!” Both the woman standing in front of her and Malfoy standing behind spoke at the same time; the woman lifted her hands in front of herself and tried to explain, clearly not prepared for Hermione’s verbal assault. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Honestly. I’ve never _seen_ him before in my life. I mean, other than a handful of times in Witch Weekly, but I would never...I have never even _thought_ to...”

“Right,” Hermione interrupted the woman’s rant, knowing she wouldn’t get anything useful out of her. She shouldered past the woman (while ignoring the whiny “hey”) and entered the apartment on her own accord, readying herself for an argument with her husband.

It was her apartment; she was sure of it. But it wasn’t right at all. Her writing desk wasn’t in front of the big bay window, overlooking the pathway. There was no coffeepot on the kitchen counter. The living room furniture didn’t look like it should. None of the wall hangings were hers. The beige carpet looked bizarre compared to the hardwood floors she was used to.

Every part of this morning was all wrong. The haze that Hermione had felt upon waking up in Malfoy’s cottage returned; only this time, it returned with full force with a stabbing pain at the base of her skull. She groaned in pain, fell to her knees, and gripped onto her head, pressing her fingertips into the back of her neck to help ease the tightness. She tried desperately to take a breath in, her lungs now burning, but she was only able to draw shallow wheezes. The room was closing in on her, the air thinning. She squeezed to her eyes shut, but that didn’t help with the feeling of suffocation. Her heart began to race, the sound echoing in her ears, each beat louder than the last. She felt a presence and a hand on her shoulder. There was a concerned “Hermione?” muffled as if she were underwater. It certainly felt like she was drowning, drowning in a tub of ice water, her skin prickling with goosebumps.

She looked up hopelessly, unsure of what her body was putting her through. Malfoy had kneeled in front of her with the toddler still in his arms, her little legs wrapped around his waist. Hermione couldn’t read his expression; everything had become faded and blurry. Everything except for that young girl, the girl who had guided her through this dream turned nightmare. She had her little arms outstretched toward Hermione with a frightened look on her face.

“Mama?” And everything went black.


	2. Draco

It was the longest morning Draco had had in a very long time, and with a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, that was saying something. He had admitted his wife (who was still unconscious) into St. Mungo’s, Fourth Floor. That alone had been a process, most of which had been spent arguing with the mediwitches about needing a private room (an argument he had won) and about needing them to be more expedient (an argument he had lost).

He had also sent three letters to the people he trusted more than anyone else (the Potters, Blaise, and Theo), along with an extra note to Ginny asking if she wouldn’t mind cleaning up his kitchen and shutting the Floo in his home. And he had finally been able to calm his daughter. Only after allowing her to rest in her mother’s lap did she stop screeching. She had been quite vocal in regards to her fear. Draco couldn’t place blame on her for that, but everyone in the hospital had placed that blame on him.

Draco took a deep breath and grabbed a seat next to his wife, leaning his elbows onto his knees for support with the weight of the morning heavy on his shoulders. He was finally alone with his thoughts, losing the strength he had needed for the little girl who depended on him. He had needed to hold it all together; if he had broken down in front of her, it would have been a lost cause. He glanced down to the palm of his left hand and began to spin his wedding band, a nervous habit he had developed over the years. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was a promise, for better or worse. And this was certainly worse.

“M-Malfoy?” It was just above a whisper, and he had to refrain from grimacing. Over the course of their marriage, she had only called him that when she was overtly anger or in the confinements of their bedroom, and even then it was rare. It brought him back to where they were and why they were there. _At least she’s awake now._

“Hey,” Draco whispered back as he looked up at his wife, doing his best to stay quiet for the benefit of the sleeping child as well as to prevent his voice from breaking. He tried to give her a small smile, but based on her blank expression, it must not have provided any comfort. “Are you feeling better?”

It was something he always asked after she came out of a panic attack. They had gone through so many of them over the years that it was old hat to ask that question. What had happened that morning was much worse than what she normally experienced, but he had nothing else to compare it to.

He watched her nod as she wrapped her arms around their daughter for solace, and the girl’s body relaxed against her mother. The movement was slight, but it made him wonder if the young one was feigning sleep. The air was thick, a feeling he and Hermione hadn’t shared since their eighth year when he had forced himself to swallow his pride and ask her for help with Muggle Studies, which seemed like a lifetime ago.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Draco knew it was a loaded question, but he needed to know the answer, especially with the way she was behaving at home and now. She certainly wasn’t acting like his wife or the mother of his child.

“Well...” she started, keeping her eyes on the top of their daughter’s head. “I remember fainting.”

“...And before that?” At that, she locked eyes with him and seemed to understand perfectly what he was asking. _Before this morning._ Just as she was about to reply, the door opened, preventing any further exchange. An elder Healer, carrying a quill and some parchment, walked into the room and shut the door behind her. Draco stood with his shoulders back and his hands in his pants pockets, a learned behavior from his father.

“Looks like someone’s awake. That’s a good sign. I’m Galena; I’ll be your Healer for the day.” She was conveniently not one of the mediwitches Draco had argued with. They had probably requested the Healer to go in by herself to avoid dealing with him more than they were forced to. “I have some basic questions to go over. Patients usually feel more comfortable without any family in the room, as to not feel pressured to give a specific answer.”

She looked to Hermione as she spoke, but Draco knew she was directing her comment at him. Hermione gave him a quick nod, confirming she was agreeing with the Healer and wanted him to leave. It was two against one. Draco sighed in return, defeated. He bent down next to the bed and rested his hand on his daughter’s back.

“Cassie.” The toddler refused to look at him. “Cassie, we need to go.”

“Stay with Mama.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face farther into Hermione’s chest.

“Mama needs to stay here and talk with the Healer, and you still need to eat breakfast.” Draco tried to keep his patience; he certainly didn’t want to cause another scene like the one in the lobby.

“I wanna stay with Mama.” She was giving him a strong, rebellious no; her little hands turned white as she clung onto her mother’s shirt.

“Cassiopeia.”

“Cassie.” Draco looked up at Hermione, but her eyes were fixed on their daughter. “Cassie, can you look at me please?” The toddler did as asked, her bloodshot eyes watering again and her bottom lip trembling. “I need you to go with your father, alright? Just for a little while. I’ll be right here when you get back. And if you’re good, maybe he’ll buy you a sweet.” She spoke those words so naturally that it was almost as if Draco had his wife back. As she turned to him, the feeling was lost.

“Maybe after breakfast,” he confirmed. Cassie conceded, let go of her hold on Hermione’s shirt, and allowed herself to be lifted by her father. As Draco made his way to the door with Cassie preoccupied with wiping her teared face on his sleeve, he turned once more toward his wife. “Do you want anything from the tearoom?”

“No, thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite right now...” Draco stopped himself from making a comment about how she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and nodded solemnly instead.

“We’ll be back soon.” He walked through the doorway, closing the door behind him. The Potters with their son, James, who was only about six months younger than Cassie; Blaise; and Theo were all waiting in the hallway. Draco was grateful he had people he could count on in times of need.

“Malfoy.” Potter was the first to stand and outstretch his hand; Draco put Cassie down to shake it. “We cleaned your kitchen and shut the Floo, per your request.”

“ _We?_ ” Ginny interjected. “Who’s this _we_ you’re referring to? Because as I recall, it was just me. Since I’m carrying your child, you’d think you’d help me out a little.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t trust my cleaning skills. You can’t have it both ways,” Potter replied with a chuckle as Ginny backhanded his shoulder. During the exchange, Draco wondered briefly why they weren’t more concerned about his wife’s condition, but he supposed urgency wasn’t well received in his short letters and the mediwitches’ apathy was also partially to blame. “Anyway, how’s Hermione? Any news?”

Draco glanced down at his daughter, who was currently hiding her face and gripping onto his pant leg, and looked back up at his friends. He wasn’t quite sure how to start without Cassie taking in every word, and he didn’t want her reliving the morning. Ginny seemed to take the hint.

“Hey, Cass-Cass,” she started as she kneeled down, her tone changing into a patient, motherly one. “Why don’t you come with me and James upstairs to get something to eat? I know I could use a snack.”

Cassiopeia looked over her shoulder toward the door they had just come through before pointing her chin up to her father. Draco gave her an encouraging nod as he pushed her wavy hair out of her face to rub her forehead with his thumb. Whether that was for her comfort or his, he wasn’t sure. Finally making her decision, Cassie silently nodded, let go of Draco’s pant, and grabbed onto Ginny’s hand. As the trio made their way down the hall, Draco was about to call after them and tell Ginny his daughter needed something nutritious but found it wouldn’t hurt to let it go, just this once.

After recapitulating the morning for the umpteenth time, Draco took a seat opposite the closed door and leaned his head against the wall. It felt good to get it all off his chest out loud instead of only briefly in a letter, and explain it all to people who actually knew Hermione, as opposed to the healers who considered them to be just another number. He took a deep breath as his friends all mulled over his dilemma.

“Well,” Blaise spoke up first, “it could be worse.” Draco’s head shot up, irritation flowing through him.

“How. How could this _possibly_ be worse?”

“She could hate you?” Potter chimed in, jumping to Blaise’s defense. “You know, she could think we were still in the middle of the war or something?”

“Yeah,” Theo added, “or she could not remember the Wizarding World.”

“Or she could have woken up not knowing who she is at all,” Blaise tried. “Oh, or!-”

“I get it!” Draco snapped much more sharply than he intended. He sighed, rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension they held. “I get it.” After another aggravated sigh, he became dangerously quiet. “I need a list.”

“A list?” Potter asked while sharing worried glances with the other two men. “A list of what?”

“Of names. I need a list of all the people who were at the Manor last night, and I need a list of potential motives.”

“You think someone intentionally did this to her?” Blaise said tentatively. “Draco, you need to calm down; you’re starting to sound like a Hit Wizard.”

“Then maybe I should switch departments! Look, she was _fine_ yesterday. We left the ball a little early last night. She said she was tired, something about being on her feet all day. She fell asleep on the couch, and I carried her to bed. She was _fine_ , and now she’s not. Do you have a better explanation?” Draco waited for a few moments, as the three other men exchanged nervous glances, before coming to the resolution that no one had any ideas. “I didn’t think so.”

“You could at least wait until the healers look her over before panic gets the better of you,” Theo suggested. “And there’s always Occam’s razor; don’t overcomplicate it.” The other three wizards looked at him, perplexed. “What? Am I the only one who paid any attention in History of Magic? Occam’s razor. Basically, the simplest solution is usually the right one.”

“Alright, so what is the simplest solution?” Draco asked while trying not to sound patronizing as he actually wanted an honest answer to his problem. The men shared a few more concerned glances, clearly at a loss.

Hermione hadn’t hit her head or done anything out of the ordinary; other than maybe being tired after a long day, there was nothing else he could think of that would’ve caused that reaction. Draco leaned his head back against the wall and rested his arm across his eyes to block out the bright lights, exhaustion overpowering him. He was able to take a few sporadic breaths before the familiar patter of tiny feet brought him out of his thoughts.

“Mama!” The door to his wife’s room had opened, and the Healer moved out of the way of a charging Cassie, who had easily gotten away from Ginny and skirted inside to be with her mother. Ginny followed behind through the doorway, James on her hip, with a quick “sorry,” and the Healer closed the door behind them. Draco was sure the upcoming conversation would be better held without the children involved anyway. Still, he stood once again, readying himself for the outcome.

“I have good news and bad news,” Galena started, not bothering to give him the option of which one he preferred first. “The _good_ news is that she hasn’t suffered any magical damage, at least none that I can find. I performed a thorough evaluation, and I couldn’t detect any potions, poisons, or spells...The _bad_ news is that she seems to have lost a few years of her memory, and I can’t find an explanation for it. Usually memory loss is a symptom of something, emotional or physical trauma or a potion of some kind, but there’s nothing. She told me the last thing she could recall was that she had just begun work on a new law at the Ministry, increasing the minimum wage for house-elves. Does that resonate with you at all?”

“No,” Draco started and looked to Potter for clarification but he only shrugged. “No, she has drafted a lot of laws over the years; to tell you the truth, it’s hard to keep up with them all. But any of those house-elf laws would’ve been before...” Draco took a deep breath in exasperation. “Before she got divorced.”

Galena nodded understandingly, jotted something down on her parchment, and continued. “She is cognizant of her loss of time though, and her working memory, which is used in reasoning and problem-solving, is right on point. She’s able to create new memories, both short-term and long-term. There’s a lot of promise that she’ll regain that lost time.”

“So what you’re saying is, you have no idea,” Draco sneered. He felt a hand on his back which he shouldered off. He wanted to ask if there was anyone in that hospital who could actually help her or if everyone was just as useless as the witch standing in front of him, but he held his tongue; his wife had slowly been rubbing off on him through the years.

“I know it’s not much of an explanation, but unfortunately, the mind is a fickle thing. There’s nothing more we can do for you here. You could try to reintroduce memories to her slowly over time, but the best advice I have is to be patient. Be patient with her, and be patient with yourself too. I’ll get the discharge parchments together and give you some time.”

With that, the Healer walked down the hall toward the lobby. If she heard Draco mumble “fucking useless” under his breath, she didn’t acknowledge it. It did get a chuckle out of his company, even though he wasn’t aiming for that; he didn’t consider any of this very funny. Recognizing there was nothing more they could do for the day, Blaise and Theo made their exit with a promise to be around if needed. Draco took one more deep breath and opened the door to the room that held his entire world.

“Red, can I have the room, please?”

“You know I hate it when you call me that, but I’ll give you a pass this time. Special circumstances and all,” Ginny teased with the same glint in her eye she always had.

After ushering the children out, Ginny gave Hermione a knowing look, which Draco chose to ignore, and closed the door behind her. He finally had some privacy with his wife for the first time since the whole debacle began. His wife, the mother of his child, his best friend, the love of his life, his everything. Gone in a moment’s notice. As he took the seat beside her hospital bed, he silently remade his promise. For better or worse.


	3. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note that some of the chapters will have overlapping scenes, but I’ve tried to make them just different enough so it’s not like you’re rereading chapters.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, and follows! Sending all my love to you!

“Mama!” As the Healer walked out of the doorway, the little girl, whom Hermione had deduced earlier as her daughter, came rushing in. Ginny followed behind with another toddler on her hip.

Upon looking at her best friend, Hermione was filled with relief that even in her new upside-down world, Ginny was still there for her. It felt good to see a familiar face, but she couldn’t help but wonder how she got here. Ginny’s hair was longer than Hermione remembered it to be just yesterday; her eyes had wrinkles they didn’t have before, especially as she smiled. The one thing that showed how much time had passed more than anything was that Ginny was obviously pregnant, maybe a few months along. Just as Hermione was about to say something, Cassie climbed onto her lap.

“Mama, you all better? Time to go home?”

Hermione put her fingertips underneath the girl’s chin to get a better look at her. She was definitely a Malfoy; she had all the characteristics of one except for the light freckles that danced across her nose and hair that wasn’t as platinum blonde as it should’ve been. Even though they were grey, there was something in her bright, wide eyes that told Hermione she was hers.

She didn’t know how to be a mother and had only had the thought once in a while before waking up in her current predicament. But if a mother was what this little girl needed her to be, then that’s what she would be. Regardless of anything else that was circulating in their world, she felt a pull to do her damnedest to protect this innocent one from all of it.

"Yes, all better. We just have to wait for the Healer to come back.” Hermione kept her voice even and uplifting in spite of all the emotion that was reeling in her mind. As Cassie snuggled into her neck and the other child climbed onto Hermione’s legs, Ginny looked to her with sad eyes and mouthed, “You’re not, are you?"

She shook her head, ever so slightly as to not raise alarm. It no longer felt like a dream, but it still felt impossible. The Healer had explained it all, but how could she be missing years of her life? How could she have a daughter whom she didn’t remember having? How could she have a husband who hadn’t been her husband yesterday? Where was everyone else who had been in her life? Ron? Harry? Did she still work at the Ministry? Was it truly memory loss, or was she simply in another timeline? And why couldn’t she remember one way or another? There were hundreds of questions, but she settled on the most important one she could think of.

“Am I happy?” Hermione asked Ginny somberly, wanting a straightforward answer. The two children suddenly started laughing, as if she had just said the funniest thing they had heard all day.

“Silly Mama!” “Silly Auntie!”

“Very happy,” Ginny confirmed with a soft chuckle as the children’s laughter became contagious, “and very loved. There’s a lot of love in your household. I’ve never seen anything like it, except in my own of course.” Those words instantly added an extra hundred questions to her growing list. _Me and Malfoy? Happy? Loved?_ Just as she was about to start her interrogation, the door opened once again. Malfoy stepped into the room, looking much more haggard than he had when he left.

“Red, can I have the room, please?”

“You know I hate it when you call me that, but I’ll give you a pass this time. Special circumstances and all,” Ginny replied, picking up her son off of Hermione’s legs. “Come on, Cass-Cass. Let’s give your parents some time alone, huh?” Cassiopeia gave her mother one more quick squeeze before unceremoniously climbing off the bed to follow. Ginny gave Hermione a knowing look, which she ignored, and left the two of them alone.

Malfoy sat back down in the chair he had occupied earlier in the day, rested his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together. He looked distracted with his eyes focused on the floor in front of him, but Hermione supposed that was to be expected.

“The Healer is discharging me, said there wasn’t anything else they could do,” she started, easing herself into an uncomfortable conversation.

“We need a second opinion.” The drawl he had been known for was gone, and instead, his voice was taut, just like his neck muscles as he clenched his jaw.

“She’s the head Healer of the department; I doubt we’ll find anyone who disagrees with her,” Hermione tried reasoning. The room was still for a few moments; the only noise was the muffled chatter coming from the hallway. Suddenly, Malfoy looked up and began to study her as if searching for something. Just as she started to feel uneasy under his stare, he spoke.

“On the train back to Hogwarts for our eighth year, what did we talk about?” Hermione sat up a little taller with her mouth agape, surprised at the question. Throughout the day, she had become used to being asked about her recent memories, but this was oddly specific. Then it hit her.

“You think this is polyjuice?” He didn’t provide an answer; he continued to stare, his eyes narrowing, waiting for her. She kept her response slow and even, not wanting to attack the only person other than currently Ginny who was even remotely on her side in the scenario. He should be counting his lucky stars that she didn’t lose any more of her years and didn’t hate him as much as she used to. “The Healer already checked for that, and questioning only works when the other person’s memory is intact. I know you’re going through a list of possible solutions; I am too. That little girl thinks I’m her mother, and if I could remember a _minute_ of her life, trust me, I would. So if you don’t mind, please leave the questioning to me and you can be the one to provide the answers?”

After a moment, Malfoy sighed in defeat and turned his eyes back to the imaginary spot on the floor. Hermione had honestly been preparing for a fight or at the very least a little banter back and forth, something they had done many times. Instead, he mumbled “sorry,” a word she didn’t often hear him say; it showed how much he had changed over the years, or perhaps the situation had simply gotten the better of him. She watched as he became lost in thought and began to spin his wedding band, reminding her of her own.

Hermione looked down at her hand, expecting to see two gold bands, one having a single princess cut ruby. Instead, she found two unrecognizable rings that perfectly matched the one Malfoy had on his finger. Her wedding band was simple: thin and silver, contrasting well against her skin. The engagement ring had one round cut diamond in the middle and two slightly smaller diamonds on either side. They fit her hand beautifully but weren’t anything like she was used to. With a sigh, she watched as the diamonds caught the light.

“We’re married,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, and Malfoy looked up at her again with a solemn nod. “But what about Ron? I thought...”

“You had been married for about five years before you divorced.” That honestly didn’t surprise her; Ron had slowly been distancing himself from her recently, working longer hours and helping George with his shop more often. But how did she go from being married to Ron to being married to Draco Malfoy? She couldn’t imagine...

“Was I...I mean, I wasn’t...unfaithful, was I?”

“No,” he said simply, and she released the breath she had been holding. “He was.” Hermione pursed her lips, forming a silent “oh” as her vision began to blur. “If it helps, I broke his jaw when you told me. The muggle way too, a few good punches right in the face. I’m sure I would’ve ended up killing him if Potter hadn’t stopped me.”

“Any excuse for you to punch Ron, right?” she replied with a sad, breathy chuckle to help mask the tears in her eyes. No matter the timeline and no matter the dimension, Malfoy and Ron hating each other was a constant, and she found comfort in that. “I would’ve loved to have seen that.”

“You did.” Those two words fell heavy on Hermione’s shoulders, a lifetime she had missed out on weighing down on her. Malfoy must have noticed her pained expression, as he offered his open hand which she tentatively took with a deep breath. “I’m going to figure this out. I promise.” His tone held such sincerity that she couldn’t help but believe him.

After a brief time of peaceful silence, the door opened once again, and Hermione returned her hand to her lap, the moment between the two gone. The Healer walked in, this time leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Through the crack, Hermione was able to finally see a worried Harry, holding the toddler Ginny had had with her. Little Cassie’s head had peeked in, taking in the scene before her without stepping out from behind the wall, as if trying to avoid getting caught. She reminded Hermione of her own younger years. _Such stealthy curiosity._

“Alright,” the Healer, Galena, started, “I have your discharge parchments. I’ve included some tips that other patients have found helpful and an order for a series of Memory Potions. There’s an apothecary downstairs where you can-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Malfoy interrupted curtly, the familiar drawl returning to his voice. “We’ll be brewing our own, and don’t bother suggesting where we can get ingredients; I already have that covered as well.”

Hermione gave him a side glance, but his eyes held firm on the Healer. She didn’t blame him for being apprehensive in taking anything from a stranger that would affect her memory more than it already was. From what she remembered of their Hogwarts days, he could have been a successful potioneer, if he had wanted to be; she didn’t doubt his skill.

“Alright,” Galena replied with a sigh, keeping her eyes on Hermione. “Do you have a place to stay when you leave here?”

“Of course she does.” Malfoy’s hard voice interrupted again before Hermione had a chance to respond to the Healer.

“I don’t know what kind of superiority complex it seems you still haven’t been able to shake,” Hermione chimed in, finally turning her head to him and waiting until he looked at her, “but I don’t need you speaking for me, and I’d much prefer to stay with Harry and Ginny for the night, if it pleases the court.” She may not have remembered any of her relationship with Malfoy, but she knew herself well enough; she wasn’t about to be treated like a defenseless damsel in distress. Malfoy conceded with a sigh, rested his back against the chair, and crossed his arms, signaling his silence for the remainder of the conversation.

“I think I have a place to stay,” Hermione replied to the Healer, making a point to be overtly pleasant.

After a few signatures and a reminder to return to St. Mungo’s if there were any questions or concerns, they were finally done for the day (though it didn’t feel like much had been accomplished). With her job done, Galena was the first to leave. As Hermione made her way to the door after her, Malfoy placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the doorway, but it only caused her to stop in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Malfoy said softly, sounding concerned. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek. It was eerily familiar, as if she had been here once or many times before. Like an old habit that had died long ago.

“Nothing. It’s just...” Hermione paused. It wasn’t quite a memory, but still... How could she explain this feeling without providing false hope along with it? She shook her head with a sigh to rid herself of the indescribable. “It’s nothing.” But when she stepped out of his reach, it certainly didn’t feel like nothing.

As Hermione walked into the hallway, she pushed her shoulders back and put on a practiced smile, something she had perfected long before her memory lapse.

“Thanks for being here with me. I really appreciate it,” she said to the two people she trusted more than anyone else in the Wizarding World.

“Anytime, and anything that you need; you know we’re here,” Ginny replied as she wrapped her arms around Hermione’s shoulders.

“Well, I was actually hoping I could stay with you for the night? I hate asking, but...”

“Of course, that’s no problem at all,” Harry spoke up and Ginny nodded in agreement. “It’s the same house it’s always been, so you know we have the space for you.”

“Sleepover!?” The four adults looked down at the little girl, forgetting she was there. “I wanna sleep over too!” Harry and Malfoy shared a look before Malfoy nodded. He picked up his daughter, placed her on a nearby chair, and bent down to be at eye level with her; he spoke softly as Hermione turned back to her friends.

“I just need to ease my way into this, I guess. To get used to it all. It still feels unbelievable, you know?”

“We don’t blame you in the slightest, and you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need. It might help to try to get back to normal though...” Ginny suggested with a slight shrug, and Hermione glanced back over to her husband and daughter, those words still sounding strange in her mind.

“But I don’t even know what normal is...”


	4. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly never know what to say in these notes, but I’m still so appreciate of you all!   
> Sending all my love to you!!

If the previous morning had been the longest, this one was definitely the quietest. He woke with no wife lying in his arms. No linked hands. No light kisses on her shoulder. No hushed whispers. No gentle touches under her nightshirt. No tight grips of his hair. No soft moans. No toddler barging in unannounced. No breathy chuckles at his frustration. No bad timings or maybe laters. And with the vacancy of his home, certainly no peace.

Draco lay on his back, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He took a few deep breaths before he turned his head to the left arm that currently occupied his wife’s space. The emptiness made the king-sized bed unbearable. He trailed his hand through the air, mimicking the curve of her body he had long since memorized. The calm in the noise was gone. There was nothing to distract his mind from running rampant.

Someone had done this to them; he was sure of it. Someone had destroyed everything he had worked for. In his younger days, he had made all the wrong choices with all the best intentions, whether or not the world knew it, including the dark stain on his left forearm. It lay there, mocking him, a silent reminder that she wasn’t there resting her head upon it. Draco frowned at the irony in it; an arm that held a mark of so much pain was the same arm that held a ring of so much love.

In his adult years, he had fought to distance himself from all that pain. The pain he had caused others, the pain he had caused himself, the pain he thought had been embedded in his heart until Granger fell in love with him and shattered the darkness. She had always been his clarity long before she knew it, and every day, he did his best to be worthy of the love she exuded.

And now someone had threatened to take every good thing away from him.

With one more deep breath, Draco finally sat up and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. As he walked into the kitchen, he was reminded there was no point in cooking breakfast for an empty house. Instead, he made himself a cup of coffee, strong and bitter, perfectly matching his mood of the day, and made his way to the study. He took the seat at Granger’s old writing desk, pulled out some parchment and an ink pot, and began to work on his list to relieve some brainpower.

Starting at the top of the page, Draco wrote out a list of everyone he could remember who had been at the New Year’s Eve ball at Malfoy Manor. He noted possible motives and interactions he had had with each person throughout the past few years. He included people he thought he could trust, knowing not to rule out anyone during the beginning stages of any investigation. He even added a handful of people who hadn’t been at the party at all but could’ve had contacts. He couldn’t rule out anyone without just cause, and he made a note to ask his mother about the few people she had invited of whom he didn’t know the names.

Ronald Weasley was at the top of his list. The simplest solution, as Theo had put it. The only clue Draco had to go on was Hermione’s last memory; it was while she and that weasel had still been married, before she had found out about his affair.

During that time, Weasley had singlehandedly almost destroyed the most beautiful soul in the entire world, Wizarding or Muggle (at least in Draco’s opinion). He had had an affair during roughly the entire length of his and Granger’s marriage with one of the Auror assistants he had been working with. Weasley proceeded to marry the witch on his ex-wife’s birthday and even invited her to it, all under the guise he wanted to make emends. He had maimed her spirit, broken her confidence, mangled her personality, left her in unrecognizable pieces that Draco was then responsible for picking up and gluing back together. And Draco would do it all over again for her.

Weasley had always hated Draco, and Draco wouldn’t put it past him to come up with some evil scheme to get back at him. Plus, Potter had mentioned Weasley was in the process of getting divorced for the second time; it could possibly be part of a bigger plan to get his first wife back.

“Maybe Zabini had the right idea of you becoming a Hit Wizard.” Draco nearly jumped out of his skin at the disruption and looked up to see Potter peering over his shoulder. “Did you not hear me come in? The Floo is right there,” Potter added with a chuckle.

“I was...lost in thought, I guess,” Draco mumbled and took a gulp of his now cold coffee. Potter grabbed the few pages of parchment Draco had put off to the side and took a seat on the couch, resting his feet against the edge of the coffee table.

“You’re still hung up on this, huh? And I love how Ron’s name is underlined three times. Should I add some stars next to it?” Potter teased while flipping the pages back and forth.

“‘Still hung up on this?’” Draco repeated with a scowl. “Why aren’t you _more_ hung up on this?”

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like I wasn’t worried about her,” Potter sighed. “I’m just saying maybe you should put more of your energy into helping her remember instead of overanalyzing everything? Maybe she just hit her head or something, and this isn’t some malicious attack against you.”

“I told you yesterday. She didn’t hit her head, and even if she did, that would’ve been diagnosable. The Head Healer didn’t find anything. I’ve been going through the past two days over and over again and have come up with nothing. I have to find a reason for it and fix it; I promised her. I have nothing else to go on.” Draco’s response was met with silence, so he returned to the portion of his list he still had on the desk and added a few more names he had missed.

“Nott Sr?” Potter interrupted Draco’s train of thought once again. “He’s been in Azkaban since the war ended, and unlike your father, he doesn’t have any testimonies. He won’t be getting out anytime soon. Why is _his_ name on this list?”

“He’s always hated me,” Draco replied simply, keeping his eyes focused on the page. “In his words, he thought I was a bad influence on his son. Goes to show who the true bad influence was.”

“Malfoy, if you included everyone who has ever hated you,” Potter said with another chuckle, increasing Draco’s annoyance, “you would need at least fifteen more feet of parchment and much smaller handwriting. Why don’t you add the children while you’re at it? Or the house-elves? One of them could’ve slipped something in her drink.” Draco furrowed his brow in thought and added a note to the bottom of the parchment.

“Come on, Malfoy. I wasn’t serious...Your _mother’s_ name is on this list, and _mine?_ Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“No. My wife has,” Draco sneered as he glanced over at Potter. He had been expecting an argument but was instead gifted a sympathetic nod. “I might need Red to watch Cassie this coming week by the way. I hate to burden her, especially in her condition. I just don’t know if I can trust my father right now.”

“Don’t let Ginny hear you talk about her like that, her _condition_. She might be pregnant, but that won’t stop her from hexing you, I can guarantee that. But sure, I’ll mention it to her when I get home later this afternoon and send you an owl letting you know. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it though; she loves Cassie as if she were her own.” Thankfully, it was one less worry to cloud Draco’s mind.

“How’s Granger doing? Did you talk to her at all this morning?”

“She’s doing better than you, but that’s not saying much,” Potter answered, obviously trying to keep the conversation light. “I didn’t talk to her all that much before I came here, but she looked better than she did yesterday. Much more at ease, I’d say. And Cassie is insisting on helping as much as she can. Said her mama can’t remember things and she has to help her. I imagine that was your doing?”

“Yeah,” Draco sighed with a nod and began to rub the tension out of the back of his neck. “I just wanted her to be prepared in case...in case...” He refused to say the quiet part out loud. _In case her memory never returns. In case it worsens. In case this all goes to hell._

“You know Hermione is a mother by nature. Even when we were kids, we could see that with those house-elves at Hogwarts, remember? She will always be the mother of that little girl, _your_ little girl; her memory won’t change that.” Draco nodded again, wincing upon hearing a loud pop as he rolled his shoulder before continuing to make notes.

Not only had he been worrying about the health and well-being of his wife, but the concern for his daughter had been a heavy burden. She was a bright girl, which was obvious given who her parents were; she was able to pick up on everything so quickly, and she had already been showing signs of magic, a great feat at such a young age.

Still, Cassiopeia needed her mother much more than Draco needed his wife. He had lived many days without the beauty on his arm and could carry on if he needed to, but Cassie... Cassie hadn’t lived a single one without her mother. He thought back to the day before, reminding himself of the words Hermione had said to him: _“That little girl thinks I’m her mother...”_ She had proven that even without her memory, their daughter would always be first on her list of worries. Draco needed to have trust in her words and Potter’s if they were going to survive this.

“Malfoy.” Potter pulled him out of his stupor and paused until Draco looked up from his writing. “She’s still the woman you fell in love with, and you’re still the man she fell in love with; you just have to take the time to make her see it again. You charmed her once, right? Should be easy enough for you. She’ll come back. You just have to have a little faith in her. In the meantime, isn’t there anything else you could be doing to distract your mind until Hermione comes home?”

“You’re confident she’ll come home?” How they had left things the day before, Draco wasn’t quite convinced.

“Well...” Potter tried to backtrack with a knowing look. “I’m confident in Ginny, and from my experience, Ginny can be quite persuasive.”

“Right, as if either of us need to be persuaded when it comes to our wives.” That earned a hearty laugh from Potter, and Draco smiled in spite of himself for the first time in the past day and a half, albeit a small one. “I could brew some Memory Potion. The Healer had suggested it, even though I doubt it’ll work. Maybe I’ll try to tweak it a little and brew up some Forgetfulness Antidote while I’m at it. Apparently she wasn’t affected by anything though, so I’d probably be wasting my time...”

“I’m not much help in that regard. You and Hermione were always better at potions than I was. We all know I only did well that one year because I had Snape’s notes and Slughorn favored me.”

“I remember,” Draco said with a light chuckle. “I doubt she’ll trust anything I give her without being here to witness the process. I’d be better off waiting for her before I try anything. For all I know, she’s blaming me... Maybe I’ll go flying this afternoon instead. It’s been a long while since I’ve had the time, and it’s always been able to help me clear my head...”

“Good idea.” Potter rose from his seat, dropping the parchments back on the writing desk as he made his way over to the Floo. “I guess I’ll be going then. I have patrols to do anyway. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. It’d probably be best not to mention your predicament to any of our coworkers; you know how fast news travels in that place. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind crossing my name off your list, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he replied with a smirk. With that, Potter went through the Floo, leaving Draco, once again, alone with nothing but grim silence and loud thoughts to keep him company.


	5. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovelies, I’ve added an “implied/referenced abuse” tag, and it will remain strictly implied/referenced. Don’t worry, our heroine is tough. I just put her through the wringer a little bit. What’s a story without a little suffering, right?
> 
> Sending all my love to you, as always!

The bed felt just as foreign as the one from the previous morning, except this time, when Hermione opened her eyes, she knew exactly where she was. She had never thought waking up in a known location would have been something worth celebrating, yet here she was. Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been her home away from home for a couple years after Hogwarts. That was until she and Ron had gotten married and started to rent the apartment above Madam Puddifoot’s in Hogsmeade. If that was even included in this timeline. What was real and what wasn’t, she still wasn’t sure.

As she was getting ready to shower, Hermione found herself staring at her bare reflection, standing in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was the first time she had seen her reflection since the whole debacle started. The previous night, she had only eaten a small meal before exhaustion had gotten the better of her. She could have sworn her mother was staring back at her through the mirror and had to perform a quick spell to confirm it wasn’t tricked.

Hermione walked right up to the mirror, staying focused on a face that didn’t look quite like it should have. It carried more freckles than she remembered. There were tiny crow’s feet that hadn’t been there before, and even while resting her face, she could see the thin lines on her forehead crease. She pursed her lips and scrunched up her nose, watching as the lines deepened. She gave her reflection a fake smile to see more little wrinkles on her jaw and cheeks. Laugh lines, as her mother called them. The scar on her left arm was still there, barely noticeable; it was faded, another sign showing how much time had passed.

Her eyes traveled down her reflection to her abdomen. Her skin had always been unblemished, save for the scar on her arm, but now, there were pale, vertical lines marring her navel. She traced them with her fingertips as a child’s laughter could be heard echoing through the halls. Little Cassiopeia. Her daughter. And her stretch marks confirmed it.

As her right hand rested on her abdomen, Hermione’s eyes continued on. Along the lines of her pelvic bone, there was a handful of little bruises, each no larger than the size of her fingernail. They were all in various phases of the healing process, a few more yellow, a couple more tinted blue. They slightly stung as she pressed her fingertips into the crook of her hip.

Trailing her eyes further down her reflection, Hermione found one more bruise on the inside of her right thigh, causing her to gasp. She pivoted her toes and turned her knee outwards to get a better view. It was much larger than the others and was deep purple, freckled red, showing the novelty of it. Keeping her eyes on the mirror, she delicately lined up the shape of it with her hand, but the bruising could still be seen shadowed around her petite palm. She furrowed her brow at her reflection as she placed her heel back down. _What happened to you?_

Hermione looked down at her bare self for the first time, and there he was. Draco Malfoy was kneeling in front of her. He had one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, his hand gripping onto her right hip, and his other hand curled around her right thigh, his fingertips digging into the newfound bruise. He was looking up at her. As their eyes locked, his darkened, and with that well-known smirk upon his lips, he nipped at her left hipbone, aggressively pulling at her skin with his teeth. She blinked and he was gone.

Keeping her right hand on her navel, Hermione pressed her left hand against her chest, trying to hold herself together. She took a few shaky, deep breaths as her heart ached and her hands grew clammy. She kept her sight fixed on the floor, fearful of the image returning. This other Hermione, the one whose life she had currently taken over, must have had at least one dark secret. She couldn’t provide any other logical explanation for it, but she also couldn’t picture herself being abused, especially at the hands of Draco Malfoy. She was much too strong for that...unless this other Hermione wasn’t...

“Hermione?” She gasped sharply at the sudden knocking and the sound of Ginny’s voice through the door. “Are you alright? The water’s been running for quite a while.” Hermione looked back up at her shivering form, blinked away her tears, and instinctively took a step backward, away from the door.

“Um...Y-yeah,” she replied and cleared her throat to rid her voice of anxiety. “Give-Give me a few more minutes. I’ll be right down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely!” After a doubtful “alright” from Ginny, Hermione waited until she heard the distant floorboards creek and released the breath she had been holding. Knowing she wouldn’t have enough time to shower, she washed her face in the sink instead, scrubbing away the memory of Malfoy at her feet. After dressing into the clothes Ginny had lent her, she took one more calming deep breath and left the bathroom.

As she walked down the stairs, Hermione was greeted by the comforting smell of cooking. She plastered a practiced smile on her face, pushed her shoulders back, and stepped into the kitchen.

“Hi Mama!” Cassie welcomed her first from her boosted seat at the table. “In the morning, we eat breakfast!”

“Break-best time!” repeated the other toddler, the boy whom Hermione had previously deduced as Harry and Ginny’s son, though his name escaped her.

“Breakfast,” Ginny corrected over her shoulder from her place at the stove as Hermione gave her a puzzled glance. “Apparently, she heard about your memory troubles, so she’s taken it upon herself to help you remember.”

“I’m Cassie, and you’re Mama. That’s James, and Uncle Harry, and Auntie Ginny,” the little one innocently explained while pointing to each person as she said the names.

“Thank you for the lesson, sweetheart,” Hermione replied, kissing Cassie on the forehead as her practiced smile turned into a true one. She wasn’t sure what compelled her, but she imagined that any mother would greet her daughter with a kiss.

“Do you want something to eat? Ginny’s making eggs,” Harry chimed in as she grabbed the open seat to the right of Cassie.

“We should ask someone who seems to hold all the answers.” She turned her head to Cassie and leaned onto her left arm to be at eye level with her. “Do I like eggs?”

“Yes! But Daddy makes them best,” Cassie replied with a cheeky grin. “Eggs mushed up with toast. That’s your favorite!” Hermione kept the soft smile on her face but furrowed her brow in confusion. How could this little one have known that? Ron hadn’t even known that. When she was small, her mother used to cut up toast into tiny squares, boil a couple of eggs, and combine them in a bowl. Literally eggs mushed up with toast. It was the only way she could get Hermione to eat eggs at the time. Even now, if Hermione had a choice, that’s how she would eat them. And the fact that Malfoy not only knew that but made them often enough for it to be brought up by the child showed how strange this world was.

“Well, you’re either getting scrambled or not getting eggs at all,” Ginny said with a laugh.

After breakfast, Harry reminded Ginny he had patrols at the Ministry all afternoon and left for the day. With tea in hand, the women made their way to the living room as the children started emptying their toy boxes to keep themselves entertained. Hermione tried to help Ginny onto the couch, but she was waved off.

“Honestly, just because I’m pregnant, people think they need to do everything for me. You know I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Ginny griped.

“I know that, but I’ve also learned to accept help when it’s offered. Sometimes, it’s not about you and more about the other person. I’ve found people like feeling useful.”

“I suppose that’s true. Maybe I should get used to it; Harry’s already talking about wanting another.”

“You’re already planning another? When you’re still pregnant with your second?”

“I’m sure you remember Harry always wanted a big family, and I am a Weasley after all; it’s to be expected. Last I heard, you had been trying for your second, and from what you’ve told me, I’m surprised you’re not already on your fourth.” Hermione instantly turned red at that comment, and Ginny chuckled at her discomfort. Luckily, Ginny changed the sensitive subject of intercourse. “...Anyway, how are you feeling this morning, especially after everything yesterday?” She sounded timid as she sipped her tea. Hermione silently hoped their conversation would go more smoothly and uninterrupted than it had the day before.

“It’s...all so confusing. It’s like there’s three parts of me. One part still thinks this is all just a dream and I’ll wake back up as if none of this has happened...Another part feels like I’m in some sort of different timeline where everything is upside down, like I’ve replaced this other Hermione and am living her life in her stead. And who knows, maybe she’s waking up with Ron right now, feeling just as confused as I am...”

“And the third part?”

“The third part...” Hermione looked across the room to the children playing on the floor. “The third part almost believes it, believes that this is my life now. I just don’t know where I belong in it...”

“Well, why don’t you tell me where you were, and then I’ll tell you where you should be? We could start with things you’re confident you remember and move onto things that are a little more fuzzy.”

“Sure, we can try that,” Hermione replied thoughtfully with a nod. “I remember the war, and I remember Eighth Year. Harry and Ron didn’t join us; they had started Auror training instead. Malfoy needed to complete his education as part of his probation though, and I had helped him a lot with Muggle Studies. After Hogwarts, you joined the Harpies, I joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Malfoy became an Auror, surpassing everyone’s expectations. You and Harry got married; Ron and I got married soon after and moved into the apartment above Madam Puddifoot’s. A couple years later, Harry became Head Auror, and I became Head of the Being Division.” She had repeated those notes in her head several times over the past day and a half, fearful she would end up losing more of her memory.

“You’re right so far, so I don’t think you’re in the wrong timeline,” Ginny replied with a patient smile. “Luckily, when it comes to the Ministry not much ever changes. All the familiar faces you remember are still there, except for Ron and maybe a change in assistants a time or two. You had divorced Ron almost...six or seven years ago now?”

“Malfoy had mentioned Ron had been unfaithful?” she asked, needing confirmation that Malfoy hadn’t lied.

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed in disappointment. “Ron had been having an affair with one of the Auror assistants. They ended up leaving the Ministry; he got a job working full time with his new father-in-law, but he still helps George out a few hours each week.”

“Are we still close?”

“With Ron? Not in the slightest. After the divorce, it got pretty ugly for a while. You had...” Ginny paused to sigh, as if contemplating whether or not to continue. “You had segregated yourself from everyone and had been in a very dark place. We thought we were going to lose you, if you know what I mean...”

“That doesn’t sound like me...Though marrying Malfoy doesn’t sound much like me either,” Hermione thought aloud as she took a sip of her now cold tea.

“It was only a surprise for the world, not so much for our inner circle. For us, it was quite obvious. Malfoy was the one who pulled you out of it, and I think marrying him does sound an awful lot like you. He would do anything and everything for you; he’s still absolutely smitten, even after all these years.” Ginny had a far off look in her eye before looking back to Hermione knowingly. “And you may not remember your relationship or your marriage, but any conscious woman can see what a _fine_ specimen that man is.”

“Ginny!” Hermione cried with a chuckle, her first one since this all started and the simple act of laughing was a breath of fresh air.

“I will forever be faithful to Mister Harry Potter. I’m just saying, you are one lucky witch, and the whole Wizarding World knows it.” Hermione thought back to the memory from that morning in the bathroom, at least a memory she _thought_ she had recalled. She sighed as she watched her ring glisten in the light.

“Looks aren’t everything...” She could feel Ginny’s stare causing her to look up at her best friend, grateful that the children were still distracted by their toys. “He really does love me? There isn’t anything that would make you doubt that?”

“No...Is there something that would make _you_ doubt that?”

“I suppose not,” Hermione decided. She couldn’t question Ginny any further on the subject without causing concern, concern Hermione wasn’t sure was even warranted. “I only remember him as my friend, if you could call him that. He was more of a..well-established acquaintance or a helpful coworker. I guess I just don’t understand _how_...”

“That would be a question for him. All I know is that you two are very good together, and you are the happiest I’ve ever seen you, including the entire time you had been with Ron.” Ginny leaned her head onto Hermione’s shoulder and wrapped her arm around her back. “He convinced you once, right? The least you could do is give him a chance to convince you again.”

Hermione sighed, not knowing which road this other Hermione would take. If her best friends trusted Malfoy as much as she trusted them, then it couldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt...or could it? That was the question of the day.

During lunch and well into the afternoon, Ginny had filled her in on all the gossip throughout the years. Dean and Seamus had finally tied the knot last June. Neville had plucked up the courage to ask out Hannah Abbott, and they had been going strong for three years. Fleur was pregnant with Bill’s third child, a boy this time (Hermione didn’t even know they had had two girls already). Charlie had moved from Russia to Greenland to Canada; he was still romantically single but falling more in love with his job as the years went on. Before long, their conversation fell into a comfortable silence.

“I wish I could stay here and talk with you forever, but I think...” _I think I should go. I think I need to accept this fate._

“I think it’ll be fine,” Ginny finished for her as the two women stood. “At least you don’t hate him, right? It could be worse?” Hermione sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day before nodding. After convincing Cassie it was time to head home (home, another strange word) and saying goodbye to her best friend, Hermione picked up her daughter and carried her through the Floo as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As she put Cassie back down, she let her feet carry her through Malfoy’s study. There were a few bookcases along one wall and a couch along the another. Her eyes skimmed across the titles of books. Some she knew by heart, some unknown, some she had heard of but hadn’t had the chance to read. There was no way of knowing or remembering how many times she had read the books that Malfoy’s study held, but it looked like she’d finally get her wish. How many times had she wished to read a book for the first time all over again? How many times had she wished to fall back in love with the stories they told?

“Mama, I wanna show you my room!” Little Cassie grabbed hold of Hermione’s hand to pull her toward the doorway. Instead, Hermione’s eye caught the woodwork of her old writing desk causing her to stop. It looked bizarre, sitting in the corner of a room it didn’t belong in, but she found comfort in seeing it. Her parents had bought her that desk for Christmas her first year at Hogwarts, a reminder to never stop learning. Even when she performed the memory charms on her parents, they had taken the writing desk with them to Australia and back again when the war ended and their memory returned. It had been one of the only constants throughout her life, especially her Muggle one.

Ignoring the child’s whine, Hermione walked over to her desk. She smiled at the sight of the cubbyholes that held ink pots and quills, everything in its place. On top of the desk, there was a short stack of parchments, keeping a list of names and descriptors written in Malfoy’s familiar scrawl. A few known names stood out more than the others as she flipped through the pages. _#1 Ronald Weasley - Ex-wife, too obvious? Lucius Malfoy - Muggleborn, doubtful? Children/House-elves - Accidental?_ Hermione also mentally noted the various names, including Harry’s, that had been crossed out. _Probably part of the possible solutions he needs to sort through._ Hermione didn’t think anything else of it; if he wanted to spend his time going through lists of names as opposed to actually helping her remember, that was his business.

She looked down at Cassie, who was still trying to persuade Hermione into following her. However, there was one more thing about that writing desk that caught Hermione’s eye: the scratch marks on its legs. Crookshanks. Her eyes instantly began to water as she fell to her knees beside the desk. She let her fingertips graze the marks. It became obvious to her that he was gone; he had been quite old, and that was before her memory lapse. In the past two days, it never occurred to her; her cat never even crossed her mind. How could she possibly be a good mother if she didn’t even think about her own cat?

Her breathing became labored, but not in the way that was consistent with crying. Instead, it became a struggle to breathe. She thought back to the previous day when she had fainted. Terrified of that happening again, Hermione stayed on her knees and put her hands on the floor in front of her to steady herself. She tried to take a deep breath through her mouth, desperate to get air into her lungs, but it wasn’t working. Her throat was on fire, but her body was shivering.

“I can’t...breathe...” Hermione rasped. She heard a faint, worried “Mama?” Her vision started to fill with little black spots as she looked up to her left. Instead of the young girl, Malfoy was standing there. He was wearing a three-piece suit without the jacket, just standing there with his arms crossed. His body was shadowed, almost spectral; Hermione blamed that on her worsening vision. “Help me...please?”

“No.” His voice held no sympathy, no emotion at all. Keeping one hand on the floor, Hermione put the other on her upper abdomen to combat the looming fear. She pushed her shame away to beg him to help her, but when she looked back up, he was gone. Cassie was now in his place. The toddler pulled Hermione’s shoulder back, guiding her onto her heels. The child’s body pressed against her back, and little arms wrapped around her neck, hugging her from behind. The distraction helped her get a few sharp breaths in, but it didn’t ease the stabbing pain in her chest or the feeling of her throat swelling closed.

“C-Cass-” she wheezed, unable to get her full name out, let alone to ask where Malfoy had gone.

“Daddy does this when you’re scared,” Cassie replied innocently as if her explanation had answered her mother’s unasked question. Instead, it only added to the confusion. Malfoy wrapped his arms around her neck when she was scared? Or perhaps his arms were what caused her to become scared? Just like this morning with breakfast, it needed to be often enough to be brought up by the child, but even if she did let Malfoy put his hands on her, why would she let Cassie witness that? What kind of mother was she? What kind of _woman_ was she?

Hermione put her head in her hands and closed her tear-filled eyes; the coolness of her hands relieved some of the dizziness, but it didn’t help her breathing. The tingling in her legs worsened, causing her to reposition herself to sit directly onto the floor. She heard mumbling behind her, but the rush of her pulse drowned out the words. Cassie released her arms from around her neck and removed herself from her back. Just as Hermione found the strength to reach out for the toddler, she felt a hard chest press against her and saw long legs rest alongside her now crossed ones.

“Granger?” Malfoy whispered into her ear as he put his left hand flat against her upper chest, in the perfect position to strangle her if he chose. Hermione instinctively wrapped her hand around his wrist to prevent him from doing just that. She tried to pull his hand away, but she was too exhausted from teaching her body how to breathe again. Though he didn’t move his hand from its position, hers remained steadfast. He did, however, press his right hand against her abdomen. As his hand crept down and his fingertips pressed into the waistband of her pants, Hermione moaned in horror; she reflexively lifted her knees to curl in on herself and to stop him from moving any farther. Fortunately, his right hand receded back up to the middle of her abdomen. “Okay...it’s okay...”

How could this be okay? How could _any_ of this be okay? Was this a daily occurrence for them? Was this other Hermione _okay_ with having his hands on her? Was this other Hermione _okay_ with the bruises and the barely breathings? Was this other Hermione’s life a constant struggle behind closed doors? Was this other Hermione truly happier now than she had been with Ron? Or was this other Hermione only here for the little girl who was currently trying to fit herself into her lap? Why else would she stay, if not for that little girl?

As her breathing finally returned to normal and the burning in her throat and lungs eased, Hermione cried silent tears, not wanting Malfoy to think he had gotten the better of her. She cried for Crookshanks. She cried for this other Hermione and the pain and fear she must have been enduring. She cried for Cassie, the innocent one caught up in it all. And she cried a few determined tears for herself.


End file.
